


Time Warp

by Nicola Mody (Vilakins)



Category: Blake's 7, Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Crossover, Drama, Gen, Humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-27
Updated: 2007-11-27
Packaged: 2017-10-07 03:49:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vilakins/pseuds/Nicola%20Mody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A spatial anomaly throws the <em>Enterprise</em> 700 years into the future where it encounters the <em>Liberator</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time Warp

  


Captain Jean-Luc Picard relaxed in his chair as the starfield stabilised on the screen. "We appear to be still in one piece. Calculate our position, Mr Data."

Data flicked through star charts at superhuman speed. "We are approximately 2.3975 light-years from our previous position, Captain." He put his head on one side. "However according to galactic drift," he swivelled his chair to face Picard, "we are 756.9241 years in the future."

"You couldn't be a bit more accurate about that?" said Riker.

"If you wish, Commander..." Data turned back to his console.

"Belay that, Mr Data," Picard said hastily. "Mr Riker was not being serious."

"He was not?" Data wrinkled his forehead slightly.

"I would assume that a reverse trip through that spatial anomaly will take us back to where—and when—we were." Picard raised his eyebrows at Data.

"You are correct Captain. However first we need to repair the damage and bring the shields back to full strength."

Picard nodded. "Make it so."

"Very well." Data leaned over his screen. "Captain? There is another ship in the vicinity." He looked at Riker. "Do you wish to know exactly how far away it is, commander?"

Picard suppressed a smile. "Just bring it up on long-range sensors." He caught his breath at the sight that appeared on the screen. "I've never seen anything like that."

Riker whistled softly. "Elegant lines and an unusual propulsion system. Alien, I'd say."

"Yes." Deanna Troi's eyes went unfocussed. "There is a telepath on board. Not Betazed; some other race I have not encountered."

"Dangerous?"

"No, Captain. I sense no hostility."

"Open a hailing frequency, Mr Data."

* * *

_"Unidentified ship. This is the Federation Starship Enterprise."_

"The Federation!" Alarmed, Vila activated the neutron flare shield.

_"Please identify yourself."_

"Fire?" Vila's finger hovered over the starboard neutron blasters button as he looked at Blake.

"_No_, Vila! Does that look like a Federation ship to you?"

"But they said—"

"They said to identify ourselves. Doesn't it strike you as odd they don't recognise us?"

"Well, that's what they _want_ us to believe."

"They'd have fired by now."

"Not necessarily," Avon said. "It may be a ploy to board us and take the ship."

"Oh come _on_, Avon. Besides, look at that thing. Have you ever seen anything like it?"

"They could've nicked it," said Vila. "Like you did."

Blake frowned, and Avon grinned. "I'd keep the flare shields up," Avon said in an undertone to Vila. "I don't think Blake realises how far away that ship is. It's enormous."

Trying not to look as if he was trying to hear what Avon was saying, Blake turned on the comms. "This is the _Liberator_. I am Roj Blake."

Avon closed his eyes briefly. "Does the man have a death wish?" he muttered.

_"I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard. Are you the captain of that vessel, Mr Blake_?" said the man on the screen.

"In a manner of speaking." Blake turned to Vila. "You see, Vila? That's not a Federation uniform."

"No, but that's their bloody insignia, isn't it? Even if it's pointing up."

"He has a point, Blake," said Avon. "I suggest we get out of here as fast as we can."

Jenna rolled her eyes.

"Unfortunately that isn't very fast," said Blake. "We drained our power banks negotiating that storm, or don't you recall?"

"You ordered us through that thing, or don't _you_ recall?"

"There's not much point in arguing about it now, Avon."

"I disagree. If we cannot learn from our mistakes—"

Picard broke in. _"You also went through the anomaly?"_

"You mean that big swirly thing?" asked Vila. "Nah, avoided that like the plague. It was the meteors that did it. Gave us a bit of a bumpy ride."

_"Ah. Then you are from this time."_

"Eh?"

_"We have been transported approximately 700 years into our future."_ Picard looked at Blake_. "Your present,"_ he paused noticeably, _"Captain."_

Blake suppressed his annoyance at his insubordinate crew. "Just Blake will do."

_"We both appear to be stranded temporarily—"_

"Or temporally in your case," said Avon.

_"—and I suggest we join forces, Mr Blake."_

"Just Blake. And that obsolete title alone seems to prove your claim."

_"Have you suffered any damage?"_

"No, just drained power banks."

_"Then perhaps you could accept our hospitality. I should like to learn more of your time and why you seem to fear the Federation."_

Vila tried to see more of the spacious bridge shown on the screen, and the dark-haired woman in a low-cut uniform in particular. "They don't look that bad," he said to Blake.

"There is... someone on board that I can feel," Cally breathed.

"Oh no, here we go again," muttered Vila.

"Someone _good_, Vila. Not someone who would invade another's mind, I can tell that much."

Picard raised an eyebrow. _"Mr—I beg your pardon—Blake?"_

Blake hesitated, torn between caution and curiosity. "That might be very interesting, Captain Picard. I've always been something of a history buff."

Picard smiled. _"Good."_ He nodded to someone off-screen. _"Make it so."_

* * *

  
As Blake was the only one standing, he was the only one to arrive in the _Enterprise_'s transporter room that way. "I see you have teleport," he said to Picard's people behind the controls as the _Liberator_ crew got to their feet with as much dignity as they could.

"As always, stating the obvious." Avon savagely dusted his leather trousers down.

Blake looked at him. "It doesn't interest you that the knowledge has been lost?"

"It interests me rather more that we are not wearing bracelets and are therefore at the mercy of these people."

"Yeah," said Vila, rubbing his bottom, "and just look at the frown on that one."

"I was not frowning," said the large man in the chain-mail sash. The furrows in his forehead deepened. "Until now." He turned his back. "You will follow me to the bridge."

* * *

  
Picard stood to greet them. "Welcome to the _Enterprise_."

Avon managed a frosty smile. "An excellent name."

"As is your ship's. I assume you are not Maquis."

"Showered this morning," Vila said indignantly.

"Speaking of ships," said Blake, "may I have a comms link to ours?"

Picard abandoned his attempt to put Vila's comment in context and raised an eyebrow. "Have we missed someone?"

"No, Captain. However—" Data tilted his head, intrigued, "—there is a very diffuse life sign."

"That would be Zen," said Blake. "Our computer."

"Ah. An interesting name," Picard said. "Are you Buddhists?"

There was a pause while the _Liberator_ crew tried to make sense of that. "Well, we all get on well enough," said Vila, "Except for Avon, of course."

Picard looked puzzled again, but shrugged it off and indicated the huge screen which now showed the _Liberator_ flight deck and Zen's fascia. "Go ahead," he said to Blake.

"Zen, I want the repairs made as quickly as possible."

Zen's lights glowed. "Confirmed. Life support will be shut down to expedite this."

Avon frowned, but Blake smiled at Picard. "Then I shall be pleased to accept your hospitality and offer you ours when we are able."

"And I fear I must decline," Picard said courteously. "It could be dangerous to know our future. However I should enjoy discussing our shared past. Archaeology is a hobby of mine."

Blake beamed. "And history is mine." He looked around at his crew. "Would the others be able to look around? I can see they're as interested as I am."

"But of course. My crew will look after them. You've already met Lieutenant Worf; this is Commander Riker, Lieutenant Commander Deanna Troi—"

Cally leaned forward. "You're the telepath."

Troi smiled. "Empath only. I am half Betazed."

"Wouldn't be ashamed of that," said Vila, his eyes somewhat below her face. "I mean, I'm a Delta and that never stopped me. Nice uniform," he added.

Picard paused, then shrugged and went on. "—and this is Lieutenant Commander Data."

Avon, who had been looking as suspicious and aloof as Worf, looked interested. "Data. A name or a function?"

"It is my name. And also my function." Data swung his chair round to face Avon, his pale face quizzical and curious.

Blake grinned. "A computer expert? Avon here is ours—" he ignored Avon's affront at the possessive, "—and Jenna is our pilot."

Jenna, who was trying to take in everything on the strange bridge, barely acknowledged the introduction with a brisk nod.

"And these are Gan and Cally who share science and comms, and Vila is on weapons and, ah, security."

Worf looked interested. "Indeed? I would like to compare notes." He looked around. "Where is he?"

Blake sighed. "I apologise for him in advance."

"No matter," said Worf. "I shall find him."

"When you do," Blake said to his retreating back, "you might need to hold him upside down and shake him."

"Oh?" Picard pulled his head back as if he had smelled something nasty. "Is he a criminal?"

"Not at all," Avon said smoothly. "He merely likes to test the limits of other security systems. Purely professional pride."

"Ah." Picard turned to Blake. "Would you care to join me in my ready room to compare notes about our common history?"

Blake hesitated, still worried about Vila. "Go and find him," he said to Avon, "and try to keep an eye on him." He nodded to Picard. "Thank you. I'd like that."

* * *

  
Worf asked for the location of all non-crew life readings and found his counterpart one deck down outside a door to a restricted area. He folded his arms. "You will not get through that."

Vila grinned at him. "Watch me." He took out some small instruments, worked cheerfully for a few seconds, then stepped back. "Ta-da!" The door slid open, and he peered in. "Anything valuable in there?"

Worf frowned. "Why do you ask?" he said sternly.

"Just curiosity. It wasn't a very hard lock to get through."

"It was until now. No one but crewmembers with the required clearance is permitted through that door."

"Yeah, I bypassed that circuit so it thought I was one."

This was a major security hole. "Can you show me how to do that?"

"With a few years of practice... maybe."

"Hmph." Worf was impressed. This Vila's looks were obviously deceiving. "And you are also the weapons officer."

"That's right. If you take a look at the right-hand prong of our ship, you'll see a little red triangle for each ship I've blown up."

"And how many would that be?"

"Dunno, I'd have to ask Zen; he puts them there. I've lost count. About thirty?"

"You are indeed a warrior."

"How could you tell? But yeah, my mum always said I was a born one."

He might be worthy of the honour. "I offer you the challenge of a bat'leth on the holodeck."

"Oh, very kind of you!"

"Vila!"

It was one of the others, the computer expert, Avon.

"Oh hello, Avon. This nice fellow's just invited me to a bottle of eth, whatever that is—"

"It is probably short for ethyl alcohol."

"—on the hollow deck. Must be one of those conversation pits I've seen in some poncy Alpha houses. You could join us if you like."

"I did not invite him." Worf noticed Vila's delighted response and forgave him for the lapse; he had undoubtedly only been polite according to his own culture.

"Then I shall leave you in the capable hands of Lieutenant Worf," Avon said coldly. "I would more profitably spend my time with Data anyway."

"I tell you," said Vila as Avon walked off, "he gets more like a computer every day. I bet he doesn't wake up; he just reboots."

"And they are a fine pair." Worf considered the addition of steel-capped leather to his uniform. "However you misunderstood me. A bat'leth is a Klingon weapon, a two-handed sword with four well-honed—"

"Ah." Vila swallowed. "Pity. I rather fancied a drink."

Worf revised his plans. It had been a long time since he had found anyone willing to share one with him. "Then we will drink blood wine."

"As long as there isn't real blood in it! I'm a vegetarian, you know."

Worf inclined his head respectfully. He had heard of warriors denying themselves meat to increase their blood lust in battle. "Unfortunately no, except when Klingons swear brotherhood and add their own. The name refers to the colour—"

"Like sangria, then."

"And of course the temperature."

Vila considered this, hesitating.

"It is extremely potent."

"All right," said Vila, brightening, "lead on."

* * *

  
"How fast can she go?" asked Jenna.

"Up to warp 8 usually."

"Warp? Is that something like time distort?"

"I imagine so." Riker leaned back in his chair, enjoying the chance to impress. "It used to be a cubed factor of the speed of light but we run to an asymptotic scale now with warp 10 being infinitely fast."

That sounded like something that would only interest Avon; Jenna abandoned that line of inquiry. "Pity we can't put her through her paces."

"Maybe we can. Come on," Riker jumped up, "we can run some simulations in the holodeck."

* * *

  
"I do apologise for Vila," said Cally. "I doubt that his eyes went above chin level. Your uniform _is_ somewhat different from the others though."

"Ah. You mean the cut of the neckline. I find it disarms males in particular and presents a non-threatening—" Deanna Troi smiled, "—front. People's defensive barriers often go up when they know that I am an empath, and I find that, well, lowering mine—"

Cally laughed.

"—might not necessarily put people at their ease, but they do tend to underestimate me."

Cally decided that she preferred respect and eye contact to a tactical advantage. Her hand rose unbidden to her own high neckline with its stand-up collar. "I find that throwing them and _literally_ disarming them usually works."

* * *

  
Vila looked around Worf's cabin. The lighting was low and red and succeeded in being faintly ominous. There were also an unnerving number of weapons on display.

"Sit down. I will get the wine."

Vila perched on the edge of a seat. Wasn't very comfortable. Klingons probably liked to keep themselves—and their furniture—hard. "Your home sun red, then?"

"It is."

Well, that was a relief; it wasn't some sort of alien mood lighting. That sharp and lethal-looking thing on the wall opposite was probably that battle-edge thingy. Lucky he hadn't taken the fellow up on that little challenge. 'Wine' was definitely preferable to 'sport' when it followed the word 'blood'.

"Here you are."

Vila swirled it experimentally round his glass; it was rather more viscous than ordinary wine. It didn't smell of blood though, and that was a good thing. "Cheers." He took a sip. Not bad: a pleasant tingle once you got past the warmth.

'Qapla'!" Worf drained his.

Vila shrugged and followed suit. He put his head on one side.

Worf watched him with interest, waiting for him to cough, splutter, or just fall sideways.

"That's a nice drop." Vila held his glass out. "Fill it up again, mate."

"Ha!" Worf poured them another large glass each. "As Commander Riker would say, you are all right."

"Cheers!"

* * *

  
"Zefram Cochrane?" Blake shook his head. "I've never heard of him and I've read a lot about early space flight. It was centuries before we encountered the Vulcans. The first ships to reach deep space were Wanderer class, travelling at sub light. The only way the crews survived was by using hibernation pills."

"Ah. So when did your people come across aliens?"

"Centuries later: The Federation agreed to stay away from them if they did the same." Blake frowned. "At least that is what we were taught. I don't understand how we could have lost the technology I've seen here."

"Because you didn't. The only explanation is that our histories diverged well before my present."

"How is that possible?"

"There are alternate timelines. We've come across them before." Picard stood up, tugged his tunic into place, and went to a machine. "Would you care for a drink?"

"What do you have?"

"Anything you like, if it's in the replicator's central memory."

"Replicator?"

"Our food and drinks are assembled from raw elements."

"Hmm. Your technology is certainly an improvement over ours. Real ale?" Blake laughed suddenly. "Of course it won't be real, will it?"

"As real as the original it is replicating. Ale, English, cold. Tea, Earl Grey, hot." He brought the drinks back to the table. "I'd say our histories diverged sometime after the formation of the Federation. I heard your crew saying that our insignia resembles yours."

Blake sipped his ale and raised his eyebrows in appreciation. "Sometime after the ecological disasters and the following wars, then."

"I would say before. We managed to avert the problems we foresaw at the end of the 20th century."

"You didn't have to build domes, then?"

"Domes? Oh, no. I think we're justifiably proud of our Earth: clean, healthy, almost no disease or crime—"

"No crime? Even on the part of the government?"

Picard looked shocked.

"How do you manage that?"

"Quite simple," Picard said blithely, "Rehabilitation."

Blake went still. Ah. Hardly the paradise Picard was painting a picture of, then.

* * *

  
Jenna jumped as the grey grid-patterned room was suddenly replaced by the _Enterprise_'s bridge.

"Right, what would you like to do?"

Jenna had always been good at hiding her surprise. "Do you come across many spatial anomalies?" she asked coolly. "What Vila would call big swirly things in space."

"All the time. Want me to set one up?"

"Why not? A recent one was rather interesting. Dark matter spinning so fast that it had formed a ring. Not that it _looked_ dark: it was red because of the radiation it was giving off, Avon said."

Riker whistled. "How did you get past that, then?"

Jenna grinned, "We went through it."

"But the gravitational forces must have been enormous!"

"They were. We had to go right through the very centre, and even then we were being pulled and stretched." She gave Riker a challenging look. "I'd like to see how the _Enterprise_ holds up."

Riker dropped into the command chair. "All right, you're the pilot."

* * *

  
"I envy you," Avon said. "You are not expected to be anything but logical."

"You envy me? You wish to be like me?" Data's pale forehead wrinkled slightly. "Why would you want that?"

"It must be easy, not being expected to have or indeed to show emotion."

"But it is my greatest ambition to become human. I wish to have an emotion chip."

"Don't."

"Why not?"

"Emotions confuse one's thinking."

"I observe that your ears are not pointed, but is there by any chance some Vulcan in your ancestry?"

"I am relieved to say not. From what I know of them in my time, Vulcans are overly emotional; allowing their base feelings free rein every seven years seems somewhat excessive." After all, look where it had got him.

* * *

  
Vila held out his glass and Worf poured, not very accurately. Maybe Klingons couldn't hold their booze. "Qap whatever it was you said before."

"La'." Worf swayed in his seat. "You are indeed a strong man."

_Really?_ Vila shrugged; compliments were few and far between, he wasn't going to look them in the mouth. "Thanks!"

"Even though you do not look it."

Yeah, that sounded more like it. Vila raised his glass. "To wine, women, and song!" He drained it.

"Song!" Worf slammed his glass down, spilling most of its contents, and reeled to his feet. "Would you like to hear some Klingon opera?"

Vila shrugged. "Why not?"

* * *

  
"Very impressive," said Gan to his young guide, not knowing what else to say about the pulsating, thrumming warp core. "Is the engineer's eyewear for protection? No one else is wearing any."

"Geordi was born blind," Wesley Crusher said. "That's his visor."

"Visor?"

"Visual Instrument and Sensory Organ Replacement."

"Ah. It obviously gives him very good sight."

Wesley grinned. "Better! He can see in a lot more wavelengths than us. I'm not sure he'd settle for normal eyes."

Gan shook his head. "Your Federation gives while ours takes away."

"Huh?"

"Never mind." Gan's hand passed over the recently repaired limiter in an automatic reflex.

"What else would you like to see? The gym?" Wesley eyed Gan's biceps. "Bench-press a few weights?"

The boy seemed so earnest. Actually, Gan wouldn't mind getting himself outside some of the _Enterprise_'s food. "What about your galley and mess? Must take a lot to feed a crew this size."

"Galley? We don't need one with the replicators, but Guinan sometimes whips up something from basic elements. She says it amuses her." Wesley looked disappointed. "I guess we could go to Ten Forward via astrogation."

Gan put an interested expression on his face and followed Wesley out.

* * *

  
"Yes, an exact reverse trajectory should take you back to your original time and position." Avon paused. "Or as far again into the future."

"Avon. Did you find Vila?"

Avon looked up from Data's screen. "I did. I left him in the capable hands of their security person." He decided that telling Blake that he was probably pickling his few remaining active brain cells with pure ethanol in the company of an alien would just cause trouble for himself.

"Um." Blake gnawed a knuckle. "I hope he hasn't lifted his wallet."

"Blake, I doubt anyone needs one on board. Anything Worf is carrying would be a weapon."

Blake jerked his head meaningfully and moved away. Avon sighed and got up to join him.

"Look, Avon, crime is almost unknown in their universe."

"Really?" Avon filed that away. The past would be an unassailable bolthole, and lucrative as well, it appeared.

"And why? Because they rehabilitate people. Does that sound familiar?"

"Ah." Yes, mindwiping undoubtedly started as a socially-approved act with a nice mild description.

"I did ask you to keep an eye on Vila."

"I'll go and find him now."

* * *

  
Klingon opera reminded Vila of the Betafarlian throat-singing Cally was so fond of. It made his teeth hurt though. He stood up. "Tell you what, Worf old mate, I'm starting to feel a bit peckish."

Worf, who had been humming along and waving his arms vaguely in time to the, well, he supposed it was music, blinked blearily up at him. "What is that?"

"Hungry. Where d'you get a meal in this place?"

"Hungry. You are hungry? After all that blood wine?"

"Yeah. Could eat a horse. Or a soy-based one anyway."

Worf got up and swayed, steadying himself with a hand on the wall. "A horse is a substantial animal."

"Just a turn of phrase."

"Perhaps. But you drink blood wine like a mighty warrior and now you wish to eat like one. I have food I think will be worthy of you. Rokeg blood pie."

Vila recoiled. "Real blood?"

"Ah yes, you are meat-fasting. I assume skull stew would also not be a hospitable offering."

"Real skulls?"

"It is served in them, yes." Worf leaned against the wall and held his head. "I have Klingon serpent worms. Gagh."

"My reaction exactly! Don't you have anything with cheese in it?"

"We can go to the crew mess hall." Worf started toward the door, stumbled, and decided that falling into a chair had more dignity than onto the floor. "Or I can tell you how to get there."

"Does it have a bar as well?" Perhaps he could find something a bit stronger than Klingon wine after getting in some more solid fuel.

"Ah. Then you would want Ten Forward."

* * *

  
"I had no idea it could be pulled out of shape like that," Riker said as he and Jenna emerged from the holodeck.

Vila, who was passing, tuned his head to look so fast he almost put his neck out. "Ow!"

"And still snap back, yes," Jenna said deadpan. "And with all normal function restored." It was quite interesting that the bigger Vila's eyes got, the smaller the circle his mouth made.

"Perhaps the gravity effects were too short-lived for permanent distortion."

Vila looked as if he wanted to say something.

"Well, that's what we observed with the _Liberator_ too." Jenna patted Vila's arm and smirked. "Flight simulator, Vila."

"Oh. Right. Well, I'm just off for a snack and a drink in Ten Four or whatever it's called."

"Ten Forward." Riker grinned. "Not a bad idea. Care to accompany me, Jenna?"

* * *

  
"Now where would Vila be?" Avon said to himself.

"I can locate all non-crew life signs." Data's fingers flew over his keyboard. "There are two of you on the bridge—"

"I noticed."

"—three in Ten Forward, and one in Astrogation."

"I believe Vila is with Worf."

"No. Lieutenant Worf is alone in his cabin."

Avon could not imagine what Vila would be doing in Astrogation. "All right, what's Ten Forward?"

"It is where humans go for food, drink, company, and relaxation."

Of course Vila would be there. "Can you give me directions?"

* * *

  
Ten Forward turned out to be a large rec room set at the leading edge of the tenth level of the saucer section, judging by its name and the curving windows offering a momentarily distracting view. The three Data had mentioned turned out to include Cally who was consuming a large chocolate torte—Black Forest by the look of it—with the empath who had chocolate ice cream with chocolate sauce; Jenna who was with the commander—Raiker, was it?—eating steak and salad, and Vila who was carrying a tray loaded with several plates. Avon regarded them with interest: macaroni cheese, some form of vegetable curry on toast, and a large plate packed with a selection of extremely rich desserts.

"Do you plan to eat all of that?"

"Why not? You can get anything you like here, you know. Just ask the machines for it."

"A fat thief is not an efficient one."

"Why would you care? And besides, the bartender over there said none of it would put any weight on."

Avon turned to look at the black woman in the odd headdress, who gave him an enigmatic smile. "She was joking, you idiot." He leaned forward to speak quietly. "Listen, crime is almost unknown in this time. We could do very well here."

Vila looked interested. "A bolthole, you mean?"

"I am considering it."

"Really? I might too. They're a lot nicer here than on that space station you were thinking of. And they have ice cream."

"So I saw. And also very good weaponry and shields." The last two bothered Avon obscurely, but he decided to shelve that little worry in favour of finding out how many flavours the _Enterprise_ offered. "Pick a table well away from the others and I'll join you."

 

He sat down and unloaded his tray: a small serving of lobster thermidor, the ingredients of which he'd had to instruct the replicator on, and seven flavours of ice cream served with three different sauces, the sum of which seemed confusingly to be called a Sunday. Perhaps it was once a religious festival food. "Did you know that their food is created from component atoms assembled into the required molecules?"

"No," Vila said around a large piece of curry on toast, or more accurately, "Nurgh"

Avon sampled his lobster. "And they do it well too." He smiled at Vila. "You do know of course where those atoms came from."

"If you're trying to put me off, you're not succeeding." Vila started in on a piece of cheesecake. "Mmm-mmm! After all, if they break it down into atoms first, it doesn't matter what they were before, does it?"

Avon grinned. Every now and then Vila let his intelligence show. He indulged in the sheer pleasure of eating for a while, then pushed his empty plate aside. "Have you thought about what I said?"

Vila cracked the top of a crème brûlée. "Bolting, you mean?"

"Blake did say we could leave at any time." Avon waved his dessert spoon at Vila before deploying it. "Although I doubt he realised he was talking that literally." He tried the triple chocolate (ice cream, sauce, and sprinkles) part of his Sunday which the replicator computer had described as a Troy even though it was doubtful they had ice cream in ancient Anatolia.

Vila opened his eyes which had been closed in appreciation of the crème brûlée. "They'd never find us in someone else's past!"

"Exactly. And a society which has no crime will be trusting. Banks will have minimal security." Avon started on the caramel ice cream with toffee sauce.

"Don't suppose it matters if embezzlers are a bit plump, then."

Avon gave Vila a withering look.

"But I believe in looking before I leap."

"I have noticed."

"So it might be worth finding out if this lot even have money. I mean if everything's free because you can replicate it..."

Avon sat back. "An excellent point."

"On the other hand, there'd be a lot fewer people shooting at us."

_And another one_, thought Avon, but forbore to say so lest it go to Vila's head. And because his mouth was full of almond crunch.

 

Gan leaned on the bar. "Is this where I order food?"

"Well, hello." Guinan smiled admiringly. "Now you're a fine figure of a man. You remind me of some of the frontier types I knew a few hundred years ago in San Francisco in Mr Clemens' time."

"Really? You don't look a day over eighty." Gan was aware that humour wasn't his strong suit but it seemed to go down well.

"You kidder!" Guinan brushed her hand across Gan's left biceps. "Have you ever considered shaving your head? Bald would look very good on you." She shook her head as Gan stepped back and put a defensive hand to his own. "No. Perhaps not." She tilted her head as if listening. "But you are a good man. Remember that."

Gan blinked and smiled. "Thank you."

"Tell the replicators what you want; Wesley will show you. You can eat what you like here."

"Thanks!"

"As long as you're not staying," Guinan said softly.

Gan stopped and turned around "What?"

"You are not staying, are you?"

"Here? Oh no. Just till our ship's repaired."

Guinan smiled and nodded. "Good."

* * *

  
"Apparently," said Avon some time later, "Earth and this Federation have something called the New World Economy. Basically you were right; there's no money."

"Pity. But then there's no bounties either!"

"True. There are however other cultures that use it; the Ferengi and the Bolians for example."

Vila thought about this. "You know, I became a thief to get what I needed without having to work. If I don't need to, why would I bother? People can do what they like here. It's a bloody paradise!"

"And what would you do? Other than the obvious answer of 'as little as possible'?"

Vila looked uncharacteristically shy. "I always fancied being a children's entertainer. Juggling, magic tricks, that sort of thing."

Strangely, Avon could not think of an appropriate insult. In fact he thought Vila might be quite good at it, though he was not going to say so. As for himself, he would be free to pursue any research that pleased him. Once again, there was something nigglingly wrong with that.

"And what's more," said Vila, "that bartender was right. Those desserts can't have any calories; I'm still hungry. I'm off to see if they do baked beans on toast or a cheesy stuffed potato."

That was it! "Vila. Their past cannot be ours. I've never been interested in history but there is no way our Federation could have developed both matter transmission and replication and lost them without someone knowing about it. This is not our timeline."

"So? Makes us even harder to find, doesn't it?"

"You're still not getting it. We must be slightly out of phase, or at least this ship is with our universe, and that's why we're hungry. We can't get proper sustenance from the food."

"Oh. Or get properly drunk on blood wine?"

Avon looked at Vila with faint amusement. "Correct."

"Look, don't let on to Worf, all right? I mean, I drank him under the table. Well, onto a chair anyway."

"As long as you're equally discreet about us almost leaving."

"Deal."

* * *

  
"Thank you for your hospitality while our ship repaired itself." Blake took up his position with the others on the transporter pads.

"And we will return to our own time and universe. I am glad," said Picard, "that our Federation will not become yours."

"Oh thanks," said Vila, aggrieved. "That's makes us feel right cheerful about going back."

"I am sure that warriors such as yourself cannot fail to win." Worf, now recovered from their drinking session, raised a hand in salute. "Qapla'!"

"And qapla' to you! I'm sorry I didn't get to the holodeck," Vila said, both truthfully and evasively.

The _Enterpise_'s transporter room shimmered and was replaced with their own familiar teleport bay.

"Right. I'll get us moving," said Jenna, pleased to be back on her own ship.

"I'll check the long range sensors once I've had something to eat," said Gan. "That fake stuff they served there tasted all right but I need some real food."

"I agree. Chocolate cake is all very well but one cannot live on it." Cally followed him out.

Blake put out his hands to stop Avon and Vila. "Thank you."

"For what?" Avon asked.

"For coming back. You both must have been tempted."

"Nah," said Vila, avoiding Avon's eyes. "Their booze wouldn't make a gnat drunk."

Avon looked straight ahead. "One cannot become rich in a society with no money."

Blake grinned, his eyes crinkling. "If that's what you say."

Avon glared at his back as he left. "If it makes you happy to believe otherwise."

Vila sighed. "Never mind. Want some cheesy toast?"

"I believe I am hungry enough to say yes."

The end

  



End file.
